A Matter of Days
by Lauryn Vi
Summary: Maria is ill, and Georg is terrified. He learns that sometimes, it only takes a matter of days to fall in love, and just as many to lose it.
1. Evening

Where is this writing productivity coming from? :O

It's probably not a good idea to be writing a multi-chapter story while trying to write for the Proboards holiday Gift Exchange at the same time. :P But in my defence, this originally started as a one-shot, until I realized that Georg thinks a lot. A LOT. (And the good news - it's almost done!)

All feedback and suggestions welcome, as always!

Warning: A/U - well, A/love story. Same universe. I think.

Warning #2: May get significantly heavy.

* * *

Chapter One

Georg told himself he wouldn't worry. But – if the grandfather clock in the corner was any indication – it had been two hours since he'd closeted himself in his study, pacing occasionally with restlessness, and all he could think about was _her_.

He sighed, toying with a cigar. He hadn't smoked since his navy days, but found that having it in his hands had a calming effect. He didn't want to think of the suppertime conversation that had worried him – but Georg was nothing if not implacable, particularly toward himself. In his mind, he replayed the conversation over and over.

Georg had just slid into his seat at the dinner table, wine glass in one hand, a small bowl of nuts in the other. In these past weeks, he'd learned that such indulgences were necessary, because Fraulein Maria was almost always predictably late for mealtime. Sure enough, the seat across from him was empty.

He was too busy contemplating why this no longer bothered him – Georg hated wasted time – that he missed the unusually somber mood at the table. He didn't notice the way his children glanced furtively at each other. He didn't notice that when Louisa finally broke the silence, her voice was small and beseeching and most unlike her.

"Fraulein Maria says she won't be down for dinner, father."

It had amused Georg – who was still thinking about the breathless and slightly disheveled way Fraulein Maria usually appeared at the table – that all seven heads nodded empathically, coming to the defense of their governess. How far they'd come from the days of setting pinecones on her seat. He chuckled inwardly, recalling her squeal as her backside – but what was he doing even thinking about her backside? Georg shook his head, and smiled at his children, humoring them. "And tell me, what is your precious Fraulein up to now that has her skipping this delicious meal?"

"She's sick," Friedrich answered promptly, but Georg heard the question behind the bravado.

By some separate part of his mind, Georg knew surprise was an acceptable reaction – Fraulein Maria had seemed in excellent health at supper yesterday – but his reaction went far beyond surprise. It was visceral. A gut-wrenching, blinding sense of terror. His chest tightened and for a moment he fought to breathe. Through the roaring in his ears, he could only form one thought.

This, again.

It had started just this way, Georg – no, not 'remembered', because that day was as fresh in his mind now as it had been five years ago. That dreadful day when he arrived home from an overnight business trip to Vienna. His children, eerily subdued, clustered around him. Even now, he could feel Louisa's tight clutch on his hand as she whispered tremulously, 'mama's sick'.

How could he have missed the similar affect of his children, tonight?

Georg had to put down his wine glass.

He met the anxious eyes of his children. They were staring at him, waiting to gauge his reaction. Waiting for an answer.

"I see. Well, don't look so glum, children - I'm sure it's nothing. We'll just get started on supper, then."

Gretl's lower lip quivered. "We couldn't even sing this afternoon because Fraulein Maria's throat hurt. She sent us away."

"She only did that because she didn't want us to catch it," Kurt whispered, eyes quickly flickering between his youngest sister and his father.

When none of his children moved, Georg added, "she'll be fine in a day or two, Gretl darling, and you'll be able to sing all you want."

He had picked up his fork then – there was no one to say grace – making it very clear the conversation had ended. Slowly, the children followed suit, and there was no more talk of Fraulein Maria. But then, there was no more talk at all.

Now, alone in his study, Georg thought about that moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, ashamed and frustrated.

That wasn't what he had wanted to say to his children. He knew the older children had needed reassurance, and the younger ones comfort. He wanted to tell them he was worried – no, scared – too. But in the moment when they had turned to him, he had turned away. He had brushed them aside as he had done so often since his wife's death.

Georg sighed, and his thoughts returned to Fraulein Maria. His young governess would have known exactly what to say.

She had always known what to say, he admitted. Even that first day under his roof, she knew exactly how to push all his buttons. He had been taken aback – and a little bit in awe – at this wisp of a woman who started her employment by challenging his every method. He was furious, but mostly at himself, for something about her earnest outrage made him want to bait her. When he realized this, Georg spent the rest of the day staying out of her way, and gladly took his escape to Vienna.

It didn't take him long after his return to find that staying out of her way was impossible. With the swiftness of an ambush, Fraulein Maria had won over the children. Then she charmed the house-staff. It seemed he couldn't go anywhere in his own home or grounds without running into her. On the floor in the sitting room whispering secrets with the children. Sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging her slim legs and chatting with the cook. And Georg always knew when she was in the garden, for he could hear her clear voice through the window of his study and hear the children laugh in response.

The change that had swept through the villa was astounding – it was suddenly a brighter and lighter place. And it felt – this surprised Georg most of all – like a home. Bouquets of wildflowers popping up all over the place, cheerful housestaff, somebody could be counted upon to be singing at any given time… he had forgotten what that was like, and he had forgotten he enjoyed it. He didn't even entertain the possibility that any place could be 'home' after his Agathe's death, but here it was, brought about by this doe-eyed, quick-witted, effervescent governess.

Georg watched her, warily at first, then with growing admiration. He came to understand by observation that he and the Fraulein were not so different. She frequently acted on intuition, and he had relied enough upon his scarily accurate battle intuition throughout his navy career to know it was a gift. She was warm, gracious, optimistic, but not to be crossed (and certainly he hadn't tried since their shouting match by the lake) – for Fraulein Maria was all that, but she was firm. And she was usually right.

Doggedly, she built bridges to reconnect him with his children, and had given him a sharp shove across it that day by the lake. Georg grinned ruefully. He supposed he deserved _that_. But the Fraulein's subsequent attempts to draw him out of his shell had been gentle. He almost didn't notice when he began conceding to _her_ whims – small things at first, a song or two for his children, new play clothes, an afternoon picnic. Then, he began seeking her out – for her opinion, for her reassurance, for the inexplicable sense of certainty he felt in her presence.

Up until now, he would have readily acknowledged that he approved of Fraulein Maria as his governess. He respected her. Admired her, even.

But tonight, under the shock of Friedrich's simple "she's sick", Georg suddenly understood that he cared for her. Deeply.

He understood the reason he watched her constantly and thought of her incessantly was not entirely because of her way with the children. He understood that the pleasure he experienced in her presence went beyond his role as a father. He ticked off items in his mind that he had unknowingly given her, although she had never asked anything for herself: his forgiveness at her perpetual tardiness, his sense of curiosity about her, his desire to measure up to her expectations, his full attention.

And it was this new knowledge that had kept Georg in his study all evening. He wanted to see her. He was worried about her (even as he learned from the maid her illness was mild). Of course, he could never recapture the all-consuming passion and the till-death-do-us-part love he had shared with Agathe, but Georg knew now that he wanted her, as wife and mother to his children. He wanted her to be a permanent part of their lives. He wanted to call her Maria.

Captain Von Trapp had always gotten what he wanted, and this made him reticent.

Finally, as the ninth chime of the grandfather clock faded away, Georg decided he was being ridiculous. It was perfectly appropriate to check on your employee when they were ill. He could be professional. He didn't have to let her know how he felt. He didn't need her to tell him it was wrong to feel this way about his governess – the young postulate who had promised herself to God.


	2. Twilight

The "start" of a G/M story just doesn't feel complete without a little bit of Maria... so without further ado, chapter two!

Thank you all for the lovely reviews so far! I'm notoriously bad/delayed at responding to reviews, but I appreciate them all oh so much! It really gives me the motivation to continue chugging along, especially while writing a long story.

* * *

Chapter Two

Georg made his way to the ground floor of the villa, and paused just outside the circle of light made by the open kitchen door. He could see Frau Schmidt still working at the counter.

After he had made up his mind to pay Fraulein Maria a visit, his head felt much clearer. He also realized that despite his best intentions, it probably wasn't appropriate to surprise her at this hour for no special reason. Because she had skipped dinner, he would bring her a snack.

"Friedrich? Is that you?" Frau Schmidt had the ears of a cat and peered into the hall. "You needn't skulk there like a burglar – if you're after that last piece of strawberry pie, I'll tell you right now that Kurt already ate it."

Georg snorted as he edged into the kitchen. "I'm not sure if I should be more offended that you think I have the build of a 14 year old boy, or that I look like a sneak."

"Oh, Captain – it's you." Frau Schmidt spared him a glance as he eased beside her at the counter, before returning to the tray of food she was assembling. She wasn't deceived by his lighthearted banter. After working for the Von Trapp family since the late Baroness's first pregnancy, she didn't need to look at him to sense the Captain was as tense as a compressed spring. Plus, his hair did seem unusually ruffled – a sure sign he'd been worrying about something. "What are you doing here at this hour? I'm going to go ahead and assume _you_ weren't also after a slice of pie?"

He sighed. "No." Georg didn't elaborate, and instead asked, indicating the tray, "is that for the Fraulein?"

"Yes, Captain. The children must have told you she's been feeling poorly today."

"Hmm. How is she?"

Frau Schmidt shrugged. "She's got a bit of a cough." She shook her head. "She doesn't have much of an appetite, but I figure I'll bring it up to her and let her decide."

"Ah, allow me." Deftly, Georg slid the tray from under her hands before the woman could protest. "I won't spill."

Frau Schmidt opened her mouth to speak, and abruptly closed it again. Briefly, she met his eyes, and he thought he could see a touch of pity in her kind face. She turned to wipe her hands on a spare towel. "Very well, Captain," was all she said. "Good evening to you."

He carefully balanced the tray and made his way upstairs. Outside the suite assigned to the governess, Georg hesitated, setting down the tray on the hallway console. The last – and only – time he had been here, he had surprised Fraulein Maria in her nightgown singing with the children. That confrontation had not ended well. He shook his head. Whatever had possessed him to rile her up that way? He was sure no traces of _that_ desire remained. What took its place was a desire he had to guard far more carefully.

He cleared his throat, and knocked.

There was no answer. Georg knocked again, louder this time. "Fraulein?"

"Oh. Oh, Captain? Is that you?" His lips twitched in amusement at the sound of her flustered voice. Then he heard the creak of bedsprings. "Just a moment – "

"Please don't –" He'd started to say, reaching for the handle himself, but she'd already thrown open the door.

"Oh!" They stared at each other for a moment. He hadn't expected her to be so fast, and evidently she hadn't expected him to be so close. Her hands went immediately to cover the sudden flush of her cheeks. His hand, still poised in midair, almost brushed her arm. Slowly, he lowered it. Georg was close enough he could see her pupils dilate and feel the slight stir of her breath. He could count the dusting of freckles across her nose – something he'd never noticed.

Her coppery hair was mussed on one side and there was a lingering red mark on her cheek. He pictured her asleep on that side, and instantly his breath caught. He quickly looked away to hide the unexpected nature of his glance.

Maria's eyes never left him. Her unnatural silence led him to wonder whether she was noticing him like he had noticed her.

Sheer physical attraction, Georg mused. That would complicate things a bit. Now that he acknowledged he cared for her, it was unbelievable how much of her he _saw_. Then again, perhaps he had always seen it, and never permitted himself to notice.

"… You shouldn't be up," he said weakly. "Please." He gestured toward the bed.

Obediently, Maria backed into the room, pausing only to throw a shawl over her thin nightgown. He waited until she had settled herself in bed, sitting bolt upright against the headboard, knees drawn up to her chest, before stepping across the threshold.

"I – isn't this rather… I mean, it's a bit – late?" She stammered. "Was – is there something you needed, Captain? One of the children…?"

Georg watched as she pulled herself together. It was so rare for his governess to be tongue-tied that he couldn't help but enjoy it. It was obvious Maria was as thrown off as he was, and this assessment somehow put him more at ease.

"No, nothing, Fraulein. I heard you were ill, and I thought I might just drop by to see how you were feeling. Did I wake you?"

"Thank you Captain," her manner relaxed slightly and she gave him a smile. "No, that's quite alright – I was just resting."

He nodded. "I also took the liberty to bring you the evening meal. It's in the hall."

"That's – that's very kind of you." Maria titled her head, eyebrows furrowed. It was an expression Georg associated with intense curiosity, and he realized he was probably the last person in the world she expected to bring her supper. "I've got the sniffles, that's all. I'll be fine in a day or two." She looked rather sheepish, and mumbled something under her breath. Georg caught the words 'yesterday', and 'ball', and what sounded suspiciously like 'lake'.

"What was that?" He drew closer.

"Nothing, Captain" she said quickly. "And are you sure you should be here, sir? This," – Maria gestured around vaguely, " – might be catching."

"Fraulein…" He waved away her concern, approaching the bed and perching on the edge, as if to make a point. Her eyes widened slightly. "I've had anything and everything during my time in the navy. Don't worry about me." He fixed her with a stern gaze. "Now, what was it you were saying?"

Maria made a face. "Kurt accidentally threw his ball into the lake yesterday. I went in after it."

He groaned. "Of course you did. It was freezing yesterday. Didn't it occur to you to consider you might get sick afterward, Fraulein?"

"Oh, not for a minute, Captain. Before I entered the Abbey, dipping into streams was a daily pastime – and I still spent the rest of the day on the mountain, besides. It was fine." She paused, then confessed, "actually, that was true even after I entered the Abbey." Maria looked toward the window with a small sigh, clearly picturing those moments of cherished abandon. Then she shook her head. "It's probably not related."

Instantly, Georg was on alert. "Oh? Have you been working too hard? It must be demanding with the seven of them. And you're always picking up the little ones. Perhaps I should write the Abbey and arrange – "

"No!" Maria cut him off. "I'm fine, here. In fact, I've never felt so – "

Georg never found out what it was she felt, for at that point she started coughing and couldn't seem to stop. He startled, and felt his heart thump. He sat for a moment, fighting the sudden irrational rise of panic. Maria had buried her face in her arm, and didn't seem to notice when he reached out tentatively to pat her on the back.

Slowly, her coughing subsided and she wiped her watery eyes with a sleeve. "Pardon me, Captain," she murmured.

"Hmm." The words tumbled out in an embarrassingly incoherent jumble. "And evidently you didn't consider how _I_ might feel."

"What?" Now it was Maria's turn to lean in.

"Nothing."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "Now now Captain. What was it you were saying?" Her teasing voice mocked his stern tone.

Georg sighed. "Fraulein, it didn't occur to you at all that if you fell ill, the children and I might be… concerned?"

She stared at him blankly. He watched as understanding swept across her face in the sudden pallor of her cheeks and the small 'o' of her lips.

"Captain! Oh – no, no. You shouldn't – I'm not…" Earnestly, Maria captured his hands with hers, and he froze. "Oh Captain, I didn't think – of course I understand your concern. Please forgive me."

Maria's hands felt warm and soft against his. His sudden impulse to bring them to his chest and pull her toward him made him aware the boundaries he had set were getting dangerously thin. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze and pulled away. "I'll forgive you when you're better, Fraulein," he admonished, standing.

"Yes, sir," she said immediately. They were both reminded of the way she had poked fun at him her first day here.

He smiled. "You've never taken so kindly to orders before."

Maria returned the smile warmly. "Must have something to do with this cold I caught. And Captain – you'll talk to the children? Tell them not to worry?"

The concern in her voice as she asked after the children touched him. "Let's make a deal. I'll talk to them, if you promise not to take too long in your recovery – my children need their governess."

"Deal." She nodded, before adding, "… but talk to them anyway."

Georg chuckled, letting her win this round. "Very well."

"Goodnight, sir," she said when he was at the doorway. He met her eyes, and his lips twitched at the obvious reluctance in her voice. Georg made himself turn away.

"Goodnight, Fraulein."

* * *

This is my first time writing G/M dialogue! :O What fun!

Also, I've always imagined Frau Schmidt having a loyal, loving sort of disrespect (with a dash of sass), and I just couldn't wait to write her in. Haha.


	3. Night

A huge thanks to all who left such kind reviews. :) Your support and feedback mean a lot to me!

Warning: sadness ahead.

* * *

Chapter Three

Georg woke abruptly and rather unpleasantly the next morning to a sharp rapping against his bedroom door. "Captain, sir?"

Groggily, he fought to get his bearings, still trapped in the last vestiges of a dream. The soft pink light filtering through a break in the curtains suggested it was just after dawn, but Georg wondered uneasily if he had overslept (it had taken him a long time to fall asleep last night). The last time Franz had woken him, he had been about to miss the train to Vienna for a very important business meeting, and the time before that, he had fallen asleep at his desk and his late wife had gone into labor – with Kurt.

"What is it, Franz?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, sir. Dr. Engle sent me to inform you that he's arrived."

Georg sat upright at the name of the family's physician. "Dr. Engle?"

"Yes, sir. Frau Schmidt called him to assess the Fraulein, and he came straight away. He's with her right now." Franz reported.

Years of military discipline threw Georg's body into action even as his mind tried to keep up. He hunted for his shirt, calling through the door, "Fraulein Maria? What's happened?" His last thoughts of his governess had been of her warmth and softness, and her voice and eyes bidding him goodnight with a hint of longing. He fell asleep thinking how much he wanted to stay… It took him a moment to remember she had been feeling unwell, the same moment he remembered he had left his shirt and jacket in the study, where he had had a _very_ late night brandy.

"I don't know. It was an urgent call, sir."

In the second it took to process those words, Georg's body went rigid. _Something was very wrong_. It took an enormous effort to unlock his jaw. His mouth felt dry. "What's that supposed to mean, Franz?" The question emerged tight and angry from fear.

"I – I don't know. I heard about it just now myself."

Georg took a shaking breath and brought his voice under control, but he could not suppress the tremor that ran through him. "Alright Franz, thank you. Please let him know I'll be right there."

"Very well sir." He heard the staccato tap of Franz retreating down the hall. Georg threw on a tailored dressing robe and hurriedly splashed water over his face.

He cursed himself silently, his worry for Maria eclipsed by a crushing sense of missed responsibility. This delay was his fault. While the disease that had overtaken his beloved had been swift and uncontested from the start – she was already fighting a losing battle when he had hurried to her side - Georg had also lost a number of men under his command to very common illnesses. Of everyone, he should know that things could change from "it's nothing" to a very deadly something in a matter of days.

He should have called the doctor last night. But the ugly truth was, Georg had been so sidetracked by the revelation that he cared for his governess and then _seeing_ her in a completely new light that he hadn't even though of it.

 _Fool_ , he muttered, hurrying down the hall toward Maria's suite. While he had been entertaining thoughts – no, delusions – of the possibilities of a future together, his present self had failed to provide her with the most basic of services, even as a governess under his care. A hysterical laugh threatened to escape him at the irony of it all. If anything happens…

 _No_. Georg shut the thought down firmly. Nothing would happen. She has a cold. Maybe a fever.

He passed the nursery wing, silent and deserted at this time of morning. The lighthearted promise he had made to Maria about speaking with the children came rushing back with the sinking weight of a boulder. He hoped fervently he could still tell them their governess would be fine in a day or two.

The door to Maria's bedroom was closed, and Georg knew there was no point to knocking if Dr. Engle was in the middle of an assessment. He waited in the hallway, holding himself erect with an iron restraint and standing so rigidly it hurt.

The wait was endless.

Finally, Dr. Engle appeared, closing the door softly behind him. He saw Georg immediately and nodded a greeting, which he returned somewhat curtly. Dr. Engle was a short, greying, soft-spoken man with a keen intelligence. He had treated Georg's children for all their common conditions, and had seen himself through a very long grieving period. Georg liked the doctor – even though the man had once suggested that perhaps he should see a shrink – but it did nothing to erase his feeling of foreboding.

Dr. Engle knew better then to mince words for the Captain. Beckoning him away from the door, he started, "Sir, your governess is very ill..."

And then time came to a screeching halt.

* * *

Double pneumonia. Georg didn't need to be a doctor to know what that meant, and he did not need the doctor to tell him it could be a very dangerous situation.

In a daze, he had listened to Dr. Engle instruct Frau Schmidt on how to dose the medications, and watched from the doorway as they administered the first dose to a very pale Maria. He wanted nothing more than to stand by her side, to hold her and reassure her that it would be fine, he was here now, but he held back, knowing he had no right to do so. Instead, Georg had nodded numbly as the doctor passed him on his way out, promising to check back later and to call immediately if anything… happened.

He barely heard Frau Schmidt say she was going downstairs to whip up the next dose of medication and bring up some water.

Georg moved to Maria's now empty beside. Her breathing was fast and shallow, but her eyes were closed, her body worn to exhaustion from the struggle of moving air through fluid filled lungs. Something within him shattered as he took in her small, fragile form, as if he was drowning along with her. And then the Captain, who had commanded dozens of men through battle and never once feared for his own safety, was brought to his knees by this delicate figure of a woman he suddenly realized he could not bear to lose.

And he prayed. There was no reason the Lord would do anything for _him_ , but maybe He would for Maria, the young postulate whom no one could doubt of being genuinely good.

Frau Schmidt returned to find the Captain kneeling by the side of his governess's bed. For a moment, the sight of the former navy officer bowing his head in earnest prayer shocked her into stillness. She hadn't seen this sort of thing from him since the late Baroness – and then Frau Schmidt understood.

The Captain had fallen in love with his governess.

She came to stand beside him, watching in grim silence as he mouthed words under his breath, her lips pursed in a thin, straight line. When his wife died, Frau Schmidt had been there to pick up the pieces of his broken family, and by God, she would do it again if she had to. When he paused, she said as gently as she could, "Fraulein Maria has been delirious all morning, sir." He didn't look up, and she continued, "she doesn't recognize any of us. It would be best of we let her rest – perhaps you should retire…?"

Georg was silent for another moment, but then he stood. He sensed that his praying was making Frau Schmidt anxious – and probably also getting in her way. He had just taken one step back when Maria's eyes flew open.

"Captain!" She gasped, "don't go."

Georg and Frau Schmidt stared at each other. Wordlessly, he turned back and reached for her, but Maria scooted across the bed, agitated. She stared at him with wild, frightened eyes. He stopped where he was, heart clenching painfully. Her bizarre behavior told him she wasn't really seeing him, but nonetheless, he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, Maria."

Georg didn't try to touch her again that morning. Instead, he sat in an armchair by the foot of her bed, watching her sleep and fight off Frau Schmidt by turns, feeling increasingly desperate. She was obviously disoriented and possibly hallucinating, judging by her frequent cries of 'the little people'.

Finally, Frau Schmidt turned to him, her face drawn. "This isn't working, Captain. I haven't been able to get Fraulein Maria to take any medicine or water. Just look at the girl, she's drying out before my eyes."

"No." Georg moved to stand beside her. "Let's try again. I'll hold her this time."

His housekeeper watched warily as he sat on the edge of the bed. Maria's cheeks were flushed and her lips beginning to crack. Georg could feel her feverish warmth even without touching her. He helped her into a sitting position and propped her against his side, wrapping both arms around her slender form. "Maria," he called softly. Ever so slightly, her lashes lifted and she looked around, blinking slowly. Then without warning, she tensed and strained against his hold, crying out.

Georg tightened his arms, pulling her into him. She fought harder as Frau Schmidt approached with a cup. "Maria," he said again, cajoling, "you need to drink this". Her arm knocked into the cup and water splashed onto his dressing gown. "Maria." It was a plea. "Darling, please."

Incredibly, Maria froze at his words. Georg didn't have time to wonder what had compelled him to say them. He looked at Frau Schmidt, who swiftly cupped Maria's chin and tipped the liquid carefully into her mouth.

Georg exhaled in relief as Maria finally relaxed against him. He held her gently, closing his eyes and allowing himself to rest his cheek against her hair, wondering how it was possible for one to feel so profoundly protective and helpless at the same time.

It was then that Georg loved her, and knew it.

* * *

A/N: It took me an extra few days to wrap my head around the flow of this chapter (and I'm not sure I'm completely satisfied with it) - perhaps because now that I'm getting to the crux of my original one-shot, I almost didn't want to write it. M/G and sadness do not bode well for me, I'm afraid, and I apologize in advance if I've made anyone miserable (whether by content or stilted writing). :( So sorry!


	4. Starless

Ahhh, monologues - my Waterloo. Oh yikes. :/

Same warning of sadness applies... My heart may have cracked a little writing this chapter. Thank you everyone who has read, reviewed, and put up with this intractable angst.

* * *

Chapter Four

Georg didn't leave her side all afternoon. He sat at her bedside, and kept a hold of her hand – when she let him. He watched her as if he could will her to get better.

It was impossible to tell if Maria was improving. Her temperature seemed to have gone down with the medication, and her breathing had eased significantly. She remained very disoriented – although there were long periods where she would gaze at him with a gentleness that made him wonder if perhaps she was aware of him after all.

It was Frau Schmidt who went downstairs at dinnertime to see to the children, and who brought up his meal and stood over his every bite. A small part of him was shocked at how _firm_ the matronly housekeeper was – but then he remembered she had managed all seven of his children after their mother died and he had been –

Georg felt a brief stab of guilt. The children, who must be as terrified and devastated as he was, how were they coping? He felt he ought to talk to them, but how could he leave, when the woman he loved was dying before his very eyes? In the end, he sent Frau Schmidt to be with the children, while he kept vigil by Maria's side.

 _The woman he loved_. Georg allowed himself to say it again. How wrong he had been, to think that what he felt for Maria was only a shadow of what he had felt for Agathe. He knew now, facing the emptiness threatening to consume him at the thought of life without her, that he loved her with the same fierce, burning love he had given his first wife. It was all the worse, for unlike his late wife, Maria would die thinking she was alone, and he would never get a chance to tell her. To _show_ her.

She stirred as Georg gently pressed her hand to his lips. "Maria, what a fool I've been," he murmured against her skin.

His heart leapt when he heard Maria's hoarse whisper, "tell me." He stared at her, but her eyes were closed. He thought perhaps ever so slightly, her fingers pressed into his. He couldn't tell if she was listening, but damn it, he had to try.

"Maria, I want you to know…" Georg paused. There was so much he wanted her to know. He shook his head. "Maria, I love you."

In her silence, he felt an urgency to have her understand, but his words were sure and deliberate.

"I was a fool not to realize it earlier. When we first met – " he chuckled humorlessly, " – I don't even know why you stayed on as governess, after I behaved so badly. Even then, you had an effect on me I couldn't understand. God, it infuriated me."

Attraction. That's what it was, that kept prompting him to spar with her.

"I can't even tell you when I started loving you. That's how blind I've been, Maria. Maybe it was your shriek as you sat on that silly pinecone, and said it was _rheumatism_ , of all things. I almost lost it then, not from anger, but from a wild desire to laugh. Or you, standing there in your nightgown demanding play clothes for the children, with eyes that said you expected anger but still had to try. Or when you pulled those ridiculous stunts to make them happy – I thought one of you would drown that day you all fell into the lake. Or the way you brought music – and laughter – back into the house… I had forgotten…"

So many moments he had taken for granted. Would he ever get the chance to make them up to her?

"I resisted your methods for weeks. In the years since Agathe's death, I buried myself in business and books and escaped to Vienna for cheap entertainment. I didn't want to face the price my despair had exacted against my family. Against myself. And then you came whirling into this darkness, armed with nothing but courage and defiance, coaxing me back when I was determined to keep you out. You were fearless. I didn't want to believe that suddenly, I was no longer grieving, that there were moments I felt happy, and passionate, and _alive_. Seeing you, talking to you, _being_ with you – that became the bright point in my day. I even anticipated the times we argued, knowing full well you had the upper hand. I wondered why I had started looking forward to each morning – and I can't tell you what a remarkable turnabout that was – when all along, the answer was right in front of me. Before I even knew you had crept into my heart, you had already taken full command of it. You opened it once again for the children, and you showed me how to be the father they need… I don't know if I can be that without you."

Georg paused, the growing intensity in his voice leaving him lost for breath.

"Maria, I know it now. I love you. You've taken possession of my each and every thought and emotion, and I am utterly, completely, irreversibly yours. I love you. I love you with the blindest of passions, and the clearest of perceptions. I love you even if you decide to become a nun. I'll respect that, I will. But at least I'll know you're somewhere out there for me to love. Only, please, get well, so I can tell you what I should have said long ago – my love, this is not the way I wanted you to know…"

His voice broke and he bowed his dark head over her hand, overcome with need and yearning and grief. But his words echoed in the silence of the room, all afternoon.

* * *

He stood by the window, watching the sun set over the lake, blind to its charms. Dr. Engle had retuned to check on Maria, as promised. He had nodded gravely, and said there seemed to be some improvement. He cautioned that Maria was not yet out of the woods, and perhaps tonight would be a turning point, for better or worse.

Before he left, he had placed a hand on Georg's shoulder and said quietly, "there's hope, Captain", and now, Georg clung to these three words like a lifeline.

"Georg?" The sound was softer than a whisper.

He spun. He wasn't sure what shocked him more – his name, on her lips, or the fact that Maria was looking at him with clarity in her gaze for the first time that day.

He hurried to the bed, and her head turned to follow him. "Maria," he breathed, taking her hand, "you – you're awake…"

Her eyes fluttered closed in response, but she managed a faint, "what time is it?"

Georg's eyes flickered to the clock, before quickly returning to her, not daring to believe she was fully present. "Just after six in the evening, darling."

"Hmm. You've been here all this time?" She murmured.

"Yes my love. I'll be here as long as you need me."

Maria exhaled, and they were quiet for a few moments. Her hair had darkened with sweat, and the pulse he could see beating faintly above her collarbone was much too fast. Then, her hand tightened against his. "Georg, you missed supper with the children."

His closed his eyes. Only his Maria could exact _this_ kind of pain, a lancing agony that stemmed from tenderness. Even now, she wasn't thinking of herself. While _he_ had given in to the torment of anguish and regret, here _she_ was, from her shadowy world, thinking of his children.

"Please, Georg." Her whisper was insistent. She was looking at him now, her blue eyes clear and luminous. "Go to them. Be present for them. They need you, the children. They need their father."

Georg struggled to steady his voice. "They need – " He swallowed. He had been about to say, _they need their mother_. The knowledge that he had come to think of her as their mother could only hurt her now. Instead he said, "they need you too, Maria."

He thought he saw her lips twitch in a shadow of a smile. "For me then. Be with them. Love them. Love them all. Will you, Georg?"

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips even as tears gathered in his eyes. Maria was trying to bargain with him, like they had done so playfully all those times in the past.

It was a tall order. Georg couldn't even bring himself to consider how _he_ would get through the days without her, much less how he would manage with the children. He was very much afraid Maria was going to take a part of him – the best part of him – with her if she died. But he understood she was not going to let him use sorrow as an excuse to retreat into himself again. She was not going to let this family crumble, if it was the last thing she did. The steadfastness in her gaze told him as much.

"I will, Maria," he promised.

"Thank you," she whispered, and her body relaxed. "The children will help you. Now go, and let me sleep."

* * *

It was silent as Georg walked into the nursery. Seven pairs of eyes stared at him. The little ones were sitting with Liesl on the chesterfield, and Louisa and the boys were grouped in a huddle on the floor. Brigitta was sitting at the piano – Maria had been teaching her to play – but she hadn't touched the keys. Georg tried to guess what they had been doing. Talking, perhaps. Grieving. Crying.

He took the armchair closest to the door, and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I missed you all at supper."

"It's okay father, we understand," Liesl's voice was low and cautious.

"It's been a long day. Did Frau Schmidt tell you… I mean, do you know…" Georg shook his head. He should learn to be more forthcoming with the children. "Your Fraulein Maria is very ill."

"We know, father," Friedrich's reply had the same careful quality as his older sister. His children glanced quickly at each other, and Georg caught a significant glance pass between Liesl and Brigitta.

Suddenly, Gretl blurted, "Father, is Fraulein Maria going to d– "

Marta, sitting beside her, jabbed Gretl sharply with her elbow, cutting her off. The little girl's eyes filled with tears, but to his surprise, Gretl bit back the rest of her words. She stuck her thumb in her mouth – something she hadn't done in years – and turned into Liesl's shoulder.

"Shhhh," his eldest murmured, slipping a comforting arm around her.

Watching the exchange, Georg suddenly understood. His children were petrified. He could see it in their pale faces and red eyes. And how could they not be? They had lost their mother, and now they were about to lose their beloved governess. They hadn't seen their father all day. But he saw in their covered glances and hushed, cautious voices that they had united above their pain and decided to protect _him_. Choosing careful words not to hurt _him_.

 _The children will help you._

It broke his heart. He didn't need Maria's voice in his head to tell him he had behaved abominably, and these children were more than he deserved.

"Gretl, sweetheart – " He held out his arms as his youngest looked up. Without hesitation, she ran into them and buried her tear-streaked face into his chest. He held her tightly. "I don't know if Fraulein Maria is going to be okay," he replied honestly. "I know you love her very much and you're scared for her. I'm scared, too. Terrified, actually."

Georg glanced up at his older children. With a strangled sob, Brigitta rushed forward, the others right behind. He gathered them close. "No matter what happens now, I'll be here. I promise. _No matter what happens_."

They held tightly onto each other for a long time, and it was both a source of comfort and strength. Finally, Liesl whispered, "you care about Fraulein Maria very much, don't you?"

"Yes, Liesl," Georg whispered back, "very much."

"Don't you want to go back to her? We understand."

"No, sweetheart. I know she would want to see us face this together, as a family." He nudged Gretl. "Fraulein Maria used to sing that one song to help her feel better, remember?"

She nodded, suppressing a sniff.

"Should we try it?" He prompted gently.

Gretl hesitated, and nodded again.

"How does it go?"

 _Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens_

 _Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_

 _Brown paper packages tied up with string_

 _These are a few of my favourite things…_

The others joined in, their voices tremulous but certain. One by one, Georg and the children went through all the songs Fraulein Maria had taught them, and that was how together, they passed that first long evening.


	5. First light (Epilogue)

Thanks to all for reading this story, and all the encouraging reviews you've left (I promise, I will get around to replying...)!

* * *

Epilogue

After the children had gone to bed (although it was doubtful whether any of them slept, that night), Georg returned to sit at Maria's bedside.

It was a long and agonizing night. Because he had not known how much he loved her, this was how he had to learn it, with Maria slipping in and out of consciousness, eager for the night to end but dreading what dawn might bring.

When the first light of morning finally crept over the horizon, it brought with it life, not death, in the form of Dr. Engle's gratified pronunciation that Maria was out of danger. He left Georg with strict instructions to have her well rested, and advised him solemnly to keep her out of the lake – at least until she had fully recovered. Georg slapped the man on the back for his cheek, but he couldn't quite control his smile. This morning, he could have forgiven anybody anything.

It took several days for Maria's confusion to clear and for her to recover some semblance of strength. Georg let the children have their share of her first, after she was deemed fit enough to have visitors. He did, however, walk past her door on several occasions that day for the express purpose of hearing the laughter and singing emanating from within. When little Marta caught him in the act and pulled him into the room, Georg made no attempt to deny he had been eavesdropping, and made it up to them by joining them for the afternoon.

He tried to thank Frau Schmidt for her diligent care of Maria during her illness, but the good woman brushed him off. Once or twice he caught her looking at him strangely – and did she _wink_ that last time?

When Georg finally found himself alone in her room for the first time the following afternoon, he felt a sense of reticence. Maria had been reading a book in bed, but put it aside immediately at his knock. "Please, come in."

He didn't miss the way her hand tightened on the shawl wrapped around her shoulders, or the fact that the small smile she gave him didn't quite make it up to her eyes. She appeared thoughtful, and almost a little bit wary. And so he entered, not as a lover, but with an intimacy underscored by the fact that she hadn't asked why he was there.

During their brief time together with the children, Maria had been friendly and warm and teasing, but it was no more than the way a governess – especially of the very unusual sort – might have been expected to act. Georg wondered if she remembered anything at all from the time she had been ill.

He drew up a chair – the same one he had used during that long, unforgettable night. "Uh, may I?" He asked, when he saw her watching him.

"Of course."

Maria was unusually quiet, and there was an attentiveness in the way she held herself that made him feel the need to break the silence. "Err…how are you feeling?" It seemed like a very lame thing to ask.

"Oh, much better." She grasped at the conversation he offered, her voice a shade too bright. "I've developed a new appreciation for feeling hungry – I'm never going to tease the boys about it again. I'm fairly certain I've eaten a cow's worth of food since I've been allowed to eat. Several cows, in fact."

He half-stood. "Should I ring for something – ?"

"No! No, no, sit down. Please."

Georg obeyed, slowly.

A question had already formed on his lips, when she turned away from him to look out the window. They were silent for a long time. Maria seemed content just to sit there, her shining eyes fixed on some point in the distance, slender profile silhouetted by the late afternoon sun. Georg let her be. He couldn't read the expression on her face from the angle he was at, but she looked relaxed and peaceful. He revelled in the tranquility of the moment, despite the things he had not said and very much needed to say. If he had to spend the rest of his time with her just _sitting_ , he would be content, he told himself. After almost losing her, he refused to take another moment with her for granted.

Georg watched as she sighed and half-turned back to him, her mind still on something far away. "Maria," he heard himself say, and was unsure if it was to get her attention, or simply for the pleasure of saying her name.

"Yes… Georg?"

"What are you thinking about?" He asked softly.

She turned to face him a little too quickly, colour flooding her pale cheeks, but all she said was, "I was thinking about – about God…"

"About God?"

"Yes." She was looking at a spot somewhere over his left shoulder. "About how I'd pledged my life to God. About taking my vows after I return to the abbey."

Georg nodded as Maria paused, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. He wondered why she appeared so nervous for what she was about to say next, and thought perhaps this was her way of asking for his blessing. If it was what she wanted, he would support her. He would.

"I had come here on God's errand. But after I arrived, and I met you - truly met you, I mean... I didn't expect that you would be so… so… I didn't expect to feel so…" Maria flushed and shook her head, gesturing helplessly.

What? What had he been? Tyrannical? Demanding? Frightening?

"I'm sorry – " He started, the same moment she blurted, meeting his eyes at last, "I heard everything you said, that day."

He swallowed. "You did?"

"Yes." Her gaze dropped, and her voice trembled. "You said you loved me."

The words lingered in the space between them.

Georg lifted her head with two gentle fingers under her chin, making her look at him again. "I meant every word, Maria. I love you." His tone was low and serious. "I'll say it all again, if you wish."

She shook her head. "No, wait." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "That day I was so ill, I saw how much I was hurting you, and I was furious with God." This drew a smile from him. "You and the children have been through so much, already. But then I thought, perhaps – perhaps he was punishing me, for – for letting myself feel the way I felt… about you."

Georg's breath hitched. He wasn't sure he heard her correctly. He searched her face, but Maria was lost in the memory of that day.

"I hardly knew where I was most of the time. I had all these visions – nightmares, really – and it was _your_ voice that lifted me out if them. Your voice, telling me you loved me. And then I was sure I was going to die. I – I was sure I had nothing left to give you… Oh Georg, I didn't want you to love me, then."

She was shaking. Georg moved to sit beside her and gathered her in his arms, cradling her until she calmed.

"And now, Maria?" He whispered, and found he was holding his breath.

Maria turned to him, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He wanted to smooth the furrow between her eyebrows, trace the delicate line of her cheekbones, erase the frown lingering on her lips, ease the pain they had both been through… but he held back. He would not touch her except in comfort until she gave him the word.

She exhaled slowly, the beginning of a smile curving her lips. "Reverend Mother always says, 'when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window'. These past few days, I saw the children... how beautiful and strong and resilient they've become. And – and I saw you. Glad to see me. Caring for me. Loving me. The Lord had opened so many windows I thought I must be dreaming." Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "I was afraid to wake up."

It wasn't quite a go-ahead, but Georg found himself leaning in. "What do I need to say to convince you not to be afraid?" He murmured. Tenderly, he cupped the back of her head with his hand, and his lips brushed her forehead with the slightest of pressure.

"It's not something you need to say," Maria whispered against his cheek, "it's something I need to say." The breath she took was barely perceptible. "I love you, Georg. And I - I want you to love me, too."

He sighed, feeling a completeness he had not been sure was possible. "Oh, my love." She turned her face to meet his as he closed the sliver of space between them, and their lips met in a moment of exaltation and triumph.

* * *

"For the record," Maria told him casually as she swallowed a bite of potato from within the circle of his arms. They hadn't seemed to be able to let go of each other quite yet, so Georg had rung for supper to be brought up. "I know exactly when I started falling in love with you."

"Oh-h?" He chuckled against her hair. "And when would that be?"

She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat at the devilish spark in her eyes. "I might tell you someday… if you're very good."

Georg dropped the fork he had been holding with a low growl, and took both her shoulders, turning her toward him. His arms dropped to encircle her waist, pulling her closer. He could feel her lashes against his skin as he kissed her eyelids. Then, he let his lips slide to the bridge of her nose. "And what if I'm very bad?" He dropped light kisses along the contours of her cheeks.

He could feel her breath quicken as she shivered slightly under the caress of his lips. "Hmm, I'm not sure that's a part of our contract, Captain" she hedged.

Georg paused in his exploration of her upturned jawline, his voice low and husky. "I've heard you're not opposed to bending rules once in awhile, Fraulein." He found her lips at last, and the kiss was slow and consuming.

"You'll have to show me just what you meant by that," Maria managed when they finally broke apart.

Georg chuckled. "It means that I am scandalously in love with you." He captured her eyes with his, and the promise was in the way he looked. "And I _will_ show you, Maria, but it's going to take longer than this. Maybe a few more days… or months… or years. In fact, it might just take a lifetime."

Maria smiled, fitting herself right against him. "Lucky for you, Captain, we have all the time in the world."

\- La fin -


End file.
